


Lover of the Light

by Pecidedlydale



Series: A Song of Scenes we'd like to see [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Drinking Games, Drunken Kissing, Episode AU: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, Episode Fix-it: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, POV Brienne of Tarth, Post-Battle, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 21:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18973138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pecidedlydale/pseuds/Pecidedlydale
Summary: A little fix-it of post-battle Brienne/Jaime. Another chapter with the bedroom scene is mid-production.





	Lover of the Light

_And in the middle of the night_  
_I may watch you go_

“You’re a virgin.” The giddiness that had been travelling up from her stomach quickly turned to bile as she jolted from the surprise sting of his statement. Her stomach suddenly felt hollowed and the wine in her mouth turned flavourless as her appetite abandoned her. Jaime was speaking but her eyes didn’t leave the little man.

“At no point in the past,” Tyrion said, holding her eye, “up until this moment have you ever been with a man.” He rose his eyebrows mockingly “Or a woman.”

It was foolish, she knew. She was foolish.

She had a title, had just won a battle, yet suddenly she was sixteen again. She saw herself as she was then; trying desperately to fit in with the men she thought she’d fight beside. Laughing at their jokes before she knew they were at her expense. Fooled by gallant knights who had a bet on getting her bed.

She was hurt but more intently she was angry. Angry at herself for forgetting so quickly what she’d learned so slowly, so agonisingly slowly, when she was young.

She wasn’t a lady. She was a knight. She wasn’t here for spiteful little wretches to make mocking of her lack of womanliness. Hells she’d learnt long ago she didn’t need it. And what of these silly boys? A selfish dwarf, a callous knight and a savage oaf from giant’s territory. In the end all men found joy in thinking they had power over women, that they might toy with her, influence her with their words. Their gifts, their devotions, their secret mockings. What did she care?

“I have to piss.” She sneered, standing abruptly and preparing to leave graciously without a sign of the sting in her eye.

The imp was still the imp no matter how sweetly he had sung to her before. His brother, too, may respect her on the eve of battle, fight beside her in the lines, but they still mocked her in their minds. She’d been foolish to forget that truth in wine.

And here he was, the vulgar courter coming to solicit her affections again, lord knew what thoughts went on inside the minds of wildlings. Her lord father’s bannerman would be pissing themselves if they saw how Brienne the Beauty had finally caught a suitor, and how suited they were.

She pushed past whatever new solicitation Tormund was offering her today, cheeks turning hot with embarrassment, his timings were too perfect. If he didn’t seem so foolishly honest she might think he did these things to purposefully shame her. She could feel the eyes of Podrick, too, looking mournfully on at her. It was too much.

She didn’t hear the niceties she spoke, or spat, before she stalked away.

 

 _There'll be no value in the strength_  
_Of walls that I have grown_

 

“He’s a dire little miscreant,” Jaime drawled somewhere behind her. She could smell the rich, sickening scent of red wine that had been intoxicating in the feast hall surrounded by celebration but was nauseating out here in the fresh winter air.

“My brother.” He chuckled as he sloped towards her, landing heavily beside her on the pile of rubble that offered rough cushioning overlooking the dishevelled courtyard.

He settled himself languidly looking irritatingly comfortable for someone so thoroughly uninvited. His legs were dangling over the edge where the walkway dropped away and he swung them childlike as pulled out a leather wineskin and tore the stopper out with his teeth. He spat it into his lap and took a long swig.

“He means no harm, you know,” he turned, offering the skin to Brienne who snorted in response and looked away. She did not want to discuss this now. Not here. Not with him.

“My brother,” he began again, drawing the words out as though preaching to a crowd at the top of the high steps, “has always been of the belief that one must brutalise their weaknesses by leading with them”

She frowned, trying to follow a drunken man’s meaning.

“When we were children,” he turned to her to share, “the little lords and ladies spotted his bare legs once, out by the river. Gnarled little things. He struggled to walk did you know?” His eyebrows rose as if in genuine question but he carried on without stopping.

“He told them he was born out in the woods. That he was raised in the hollow of a tree and he could commune with the Children of the Forest. That he had the old sight of the Northern gods and those who betrayed him best beware.” He chuckled breathily to himself. “He was eight.”

Brienne shuddered. No doubt they had believed him. She’d always sensed a queer keenness in those mismatched eyes. When he looked at her, she felt that they could see straight to the linings of her stomach.

“Cersei found out of course.” He carried on unwaveringly. “They were all such superstitious little simpletons he might have had them at his mercy if she hadn’t put an end to it, and relished it mind you, she told them he was a monster, sure, but he could only kill the ones who loved him. She meant our mother I suppose.”

He looked at her again. “So, they went back to hating him, but they never came that close again. He would bathe right out in the open and if they saw they wouldn’t say a word. And do you know I think he started to enjoy it. Not the hatred, mind you, but the power he could wield in parading what these pathetic little people despised.”

Brienne was weary. Her head felt heavy with the weight of the long day and the sweet red she’d been guzzling recklessly and she didn’t want to speak in riddles and listen to ridiculous tales.

“Why are you telling me this?” She asked curtly.

“Because, sweet Ser,” Jaime smirked, “If you understood his nature you might be less offended.”

Brienne rankled. “Your brother doesn’t bother me.” She stated, staring ahead at the battlements that were crumbled across the chasm of the courtyard.

“Clearly.” She could here the smile playing across his lips without having to turn her head.

But she did turn slightly, just enough to snatch the wineskin from his grasp and fix him with an unimpressed frown.

“My brother is of the opinion,” he began again, shuffling closer to her, “that one should wear their freakishness as armour. Parade it before the rest of the world and dare them to say something.”

He tilted the bottom of the skin up when she didn’t seem inclined to take a drink, mortification freezing her hand in place just as it reached her lips.

“It’s the shame that makes an oddness into a weakness.”

She drank slowly, keeping eye contact all the while, hoping the fury on her features might mask the twinge of hurt.

When she was done she pushed it back into his chest.

“So,” she asserted, “I’m a freak?”

She felt pride that her manner had come out seeming haughty rather than afraid.

He was still pulling that irritating smirk right up the side of his face.

“Yes.” He answered with ease.

He chuckled as she snapped her head away in annoyance.

He shuffled closer still and tugged her arm towards him with his good hand. “We’re all freaks. That’s the point. I mean, look at me.” He waved his gold hand before her face, bidding her follow it round to look at him again.

And when she did turn she saw that he was much closer than he had been moments ago, his eyes mere inches from her nose.

“When I lost my hand he mocked me mercilessly,” he whispered, “but he also pushed me in front of a man with a sword and forced me to face it. To stop hiding behind excuses.”

He was very, very close now. She felt a surge of panic ripple up her chest and she jolted sharply back.

She felt that ripple curdle back into embarrassment as she saw the flash of genuine surprise cross Jaime’s features at her sudden movement.

“I don’t want to talk about your bloody brother.” She declared petulantly.

Her head didn’t feel heavy anymore. It was light, so light, it felt like it might float away. She gripped her fingers in the grit beneath her to ground herself. She looked across the courtyard again but the view made her queasy now and she turned back to face him.

“Alright.” He smiled again and a dark look flashed across his eyes. “Let’s talk about you.”

“Oh let’s not.” She groaned, knowing full well she wouldn’t like this course of conversation.

“No, no, no, you insisted.” He swigged from the skin again. “Let’s finish our game shall we?”

She eyed him warily, “I’m not sure I like this game after all.”

“Oh, you’ll like it with me.” He answered confidently.

“You cheat.” Was her only answer.

“Ah, well, to keep me in line then a new rule. Anything I ask you I must ask of myself as well.”

Brienne frowned. That didn’t sound like it would work.

“I’ll go first.” He pushed the skin into her hand.

“You’ve been kissed before.” She rolled her eyes at that and drank, watching his face for an expression of surprise, none came.

“Hmm.” He murmured, taking his swig after her.

“Not that great big beast of a wildling I hope.” He grinned but his words were stilted.

She rolled her eyes again. “Now you sound jealous.” She muttered.

He cocked his head a little, the movement slowed by drink, “I suppose I do.” He answered plainly.

She eyed him watchfully. He looked back at her, passing her the skin again.

“But.” He started, “You’ve never kissed a knight.”

“It’s not your turn.”

“It’s always my turn. This is a new game. Drink.” She smirked now, pushing the skin back to him.

“You don’t know everything about me Jaime Lannister.” She took a smug satisfaction in the way his face fell at that.

He put the leather to his lips and drank deeply, pulling it away fiercely to embark on his next guess. His eyes never left her.

“Sometimes when you lay abed at night, back when you were his sworn shield,” Jaime leaned in towards her “when he slept some screens of canvas away,” he was leaning in closer again, aiming his whispers at her ear but catching her neck with the warmth of his breath “when your armour hung on a hook with your leathers and you felt the crisp breeze tickle at your bare skin, camped out in the open air, you’d touch yourself and imagine it was Renly.”

She shuddered. Her eyes had closed at some point and she daren’t open them again.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He continued, his lips grazing the soft skin below her ear, “You’d let you fingers roam beneath your underclothes. Make as if it was his hand pulling at your teats. His touch stroking down between your legs. Did you pretend he was inside you?”

Brienne jerked suddenly at the sensation of a warm hand on her thigh.

“Well?” He hadn’t moved from the place at her neck and her quick movement only pushed his hand further up her leg. “Would you have done it? For your king?”

“Yes.” She whispered, barely able to hear herself over the pulse thudding in her ears. His fingers drew soft circles on her inner thigh.

“I’ve never kissed a knight before.” He murmured into her neck. She let out a choked little laugh at that. It was humourless though. Nervous. Her skin felt like there were tiny grains of sand buzzing all over her. Like she was vibrating out of it.

Jaime’s hand crept across her lap and to her waist. He was still nuzzled in at her neck and she sat frozen, scared to even breathe, as it carried on journeying up her side to graze her breast.

Or, well, she assumed it was grazing her breast. Her skin tingled as though she could feel his hand upon her but in truth her leathers were far too thick around the chest for any light sensation to get through. At this her eyes shot open and she felt ridiculous again.

“Stop.” She announced authoritatively. And he did. He pulled back to look at her quizzically and the sight made her sensations dull.

 _He thinks he’s doing me a courtesy._ She realised, sickened.

“You’re drunk Ser.” She said with finality. “I think it might be best for your honour and my good name that we both retire for the night.” Her phrasing came out disjointed and perhaps too formal but it had its effect. His brow cleared and he nodded, eyes alight with understanding.

“Of course, my lady.” He returned in an equally formal tone. He looked around the courtyard curiously and began to rise to his feet in awkward, ungainly motions. He proffered his hand to her and she felt her cheeks burn as she gripped the cold hunk of ghastly gold and politely pretended to allow him to help her up.

The awkwardness was worse now they were standing, breathing heavy clouds of pale air, starkly alone beneath the cloudless moonlit sky.

“Let me escort you back, my lady.” He eyed her curiously. “Ser Brienne.” He added.

She nodded awkwardly and took his offered elbow, hiking her knees up over piles of rubble to return to the lesser damaged walkway.

 

 _There'll be no comfort in the shade_  
_Of the shadows thrown_

 

Their journey was hideously silent and Brienne winced at every hollow echo of their steps along the castle halls.

Her heart was racing erratically by the time they finally reached the door to her chamber. Neither of them had even dared turn their heads to look at one another.

She was nervous and her nervousness made her confused. She had asked him to stop, had she not? It was she who had said no, she who knew that nothing could be worse than Jaime trying to save her again, trying to gift her what she wanted, knighthoods and honour and respect and… this.

Nothing could be worse than him trying to give her this too. She nodded to herself. She was right. It couldn’t count. It didn’t mean anything if it was given as a gift. If he didn’t truly want her.

She turned and dipped her head lightly to him “Thank you, ser-”

Her words were forced back into her throat as Jaime pushed her up against the heavy oak door of her chamber. His cold mummers hand pushed against her hip as his warm one reached for her cheek and pulled her face down to crash his lips against hers.

The air was driven out of her lungs and she gasped against him in surprise, head swimming at the sudden rush of movement and the warmth that the wine in her belly spread up through her chest and down between her legs.

He was kissing her fervently, pressing his body into hers, and she felt the heavy weight of his chest pinning her back against the thick wood. His hand journeyed down again, tickling at her neck before she felt it catch in the tie of her jerkin, he pulled it lightly free and she felt the cold air fresh against her neck for just a moment before he moved his mouth there, kissing first, then grazing his teeth lightly along her tendons.

Her body was buzzing again. She could hear it in her ears. She was vaguely aware that her eyes were squeezed shut as she dragged heavy breaths in through her teeth while he sucked and nipped at her throat. His hand had moved again, he was holding her lower back, pulling her flush against the rigid press of his crotch and she heard herself moan lightly as he thrust his hips gently against her. His hand lowered still and she felt his grip massage the soft flesh of her buttock, pulling her hips in a rhythm against his.

She needed a moment. If she could just breathe, she could catch up, but Jaime’s mouth was on hers again and his lips were soft and warm against her own cold ones, making them tingle as he deepened the kiss. He was slower now, pace less urgent as he pressed his lips to hers in the same rhythm as his hips.

She could feel it up against her, slipping into the dip of her hip, _he must be on his tiptoes_. The thought made a little laugh bubble up her throat and burst forth against his lips. It sounded high pitched and panicked and she was immediately horrified before she felt him chuckle back against her lips. He was panting too she noted with relief.

“Perhaps,” he drawled against her lips, not moving to let go of any part of her he pressed against, “we should go inside?” He followed it with a long, slow kiss.

She heard herself croak some sort of affirmation but she didn’t dare to move an inch.

He kissed her again, lighter this time, pulling her back slowly by his grip on her rear.

“It’ll be easier,” he whispered, smirking, “if we can open the door.”

Brienne felt her cheeks redden and for the first time turned her eyes to take in their surroundings.

They were on one of the long main corridors decorated on both sides with chamber doors. This way led to the lodgings of senior servicemen of Winterfell and guest rooms for those of nobility. They were by no means at the heart of the castle but, gods, they weren’t sequestered away. Anyone might chance down here on their own journey to sleep and find her keening wantonly in the shadows of her door frame. She pushed at Jaime’s chest, slapping his hands from her, eyes darting quickly along both ends of the corridor.

“There’s no one here.” He purred, amused, “But there might be soon if you don’t let me in.”

He quirked an eyebrow and she looked at him again, he was leaning forward confidently and she quickly turned to the door before her could kiss her again, throwing it open and stalking in. She didn’t turn to check if he was following her.


End file.
